


Broken Barriers

by Snowblind12



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, F/M, Fred Weasley Lives, Halloween, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Post-War, Samhain, Severus Snape Lives, Sexual Tension, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-01-15 17:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21257030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowblind12/pseuds/Snowblind12
Summary: Tensions run high when Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger return to Hogwarts after the fall of Voldemort. As Head Boy and Girl, how will they ever get along? A story about tradition, booty shorts, and learning to trust.This is my entry for the Dramione FanFiction Writers’ 2019 Trope Fest. My assigned trope was Head Boy/Head Girl. Hope you enjoy it! Thank you for reading!





	Broken Barriers

**Author's Note:**

> BETA - LissaDream - Thank you, Lissa!! <3

* * *

Fall had taken root in the wizarding town of Hogsmeade and Hermione was spending her day in the picturesque village browsing the various shops. Now that the war was behind them, there was an air of unrestrained relief and glee amongst the students. Voldemort and his merry band of bigoted and murdering Death Eaters had been defeated, and life at Hogwarts was different than Hermione had ever experienced. Not only was there no longer an ominous threat in her life, but her best friends, Harry and Ron, had elected not to return to school for their final year. Harry was offered a job with Magical Law Enforcement and was hoping to work his way into an Auror position. Ron was happily employed by his twin brothers and was assisting with expansion efforts of the monumentally successful joke shop, Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Hermione had just finished lunch with the two men at the Three Broomsticks and was now purchasing some last-minute items before heading back to the castle.

Halloween was one of Hermione’s favorite holidays. Ever since she was a little girl, she had loved it. The decorations, the costumes, the pumpkin carving, even the candy – of which her parents allowed only minimal consumption. However, Halloween had taken on a different meaning since coming to the Scottish Wizarding school. Because of Harry’s association of Halloween with the death of his parents and the arrival of Voldemort into his life, it didn’t seem appropriate to celebrate the occasion as she had in the past. But things were different now, Harry was no longer in school, Voldemort was dead, and Hermione was Head Girl – which meant she now had the luxury of residing in the Head’s dorm. A dorm that she could decorate to her heart’s content.

And what a dorm it was! Situated within the heart and center of the castle, it beheld a warm and cozy common room adorned with cushy oversized sofas and chairs, a huge, stone bordered hearth, a small kitchen, a large study with charmed, limitless bookshelves, and two bedrooms with panoramic views of the grounds. These views were illusions, much like the ceiling of the Great Hall, and offered rotating visuals of the various vistas about the castle.

There was only one negative in the situation – the Head boy lived there as well. Draco Malfoy. Prat. Ex Death Eater. Years’ long bane of her existence.

Hermione had been shocked to learn the Slytherin would not only be coming back, but returning as Head boy, no less. Yes, he had turned to the light that fateful night on the Astronomy tower and sought refuge from Dumbledore. Yes, because of this action, his mother and father had followed suit and joined the Order. And yes, it was the combined efforts of Professor Snape, the reformed Malfoys, and the Order, all helping Harry, that led to the defeat of Voldemort and his regime. But in Hermione’s opinion, the boy was still a menace and given his behavior as a student, he had not earned the privilege of being titled Head Boy.

It wasn’t Hermione’s decision, though. Headmistress McGonagall had explained it all very plainly. Just as the Sorting Hat sorted students in their first year, the Headmistess’ Ledger Tome selected the Head Boy and Girl from the seventh-year students. It was magically determined and while it was often predictable who would get the honor, this year the tome had created quite a stir.

Hermione, however, had learned not to sweat the small stuff. She was determined to be the best Head Girl she could be, and she was determined to earn eleven NEWTS. As long as the Head Boy stayed out of her way, she would do her part to maintain a peaceful existence in the head dorm.

What Hermione had not counted on, however, was how quiet Malfoy would be. How unobtrusive. Agreeable. Even charming at times. Especially when he genuinely smiled. Sometimes, she even found her ability to concentrate skewed when he entered the room. He commanded a presence she was unaccustomed to. Tall, thin - but muscular, chiseled jaw and stormy grey eyes.

But it was his benevolent behavior that stuck with her. Frankly, it was unsettling. She was still unconvinced there wasn’t a catch somewhere. Any minute now, the rooster would crow, and Hermione would wake up to reality and find it had been a dream. The Head Boy would be the same self-servicing, bigoted, spoiled to the core, bully he had always been. She knew it was coming and it left her slightly on edge.

Until that happened though, she would continue to enjoy the peace, and she would look forward to Halloween. Hence today’s shopping. She levitated her bags beside her and shrunk them to fit in her charmed beaded handbag. After organizing her purchases, she consulted her list one last time. Darn. She forgot quills. Checking her watch, she determined that if she was quick, she would have just enough time to hit Scrivenshaft’s before heading back for her meeting.

* * *

There were few things Draco Malfoy loved more than Quidditch. What wasn’t to love? The freedom of whipping through the air on his broom, the breeze on his face, the thrill of competition, the thrum of excitement from his teammates and fans. The pounding of his anticipatory heart. Nothing else mattered when he played. He didn’t have to think about his future or his past. Just this moment and that little golden snitch. It was his therapy. His Zen.

Today was just practice – the game against Gryffindor would be on the following Saturday - October thirty-first. The afternoon of Samhain. A chill rushed through him. Samhain. The passing of the spirits. Would this be a year his ancestors would visit? Would other spirits pass through? Normally, the night of the dead was celebrated at Malfoy Manor, but due to renovations taking place, his parents were staying at their Parisian Chateau. This meant Draco would be on his own for the first time. He and some fellow Slytherins were planning a ritual bonfire on the border of the Forbidden Forest and would do their best to honor the long-held tradition. After all, it was considered poor taste to ignore the dead’s night. It could have unpleasant repercussions.

Draco was hovering near the opposite goal post while the Chasers ran dodging drills and the Beaters tried to hit them with Bludgers. He was just about to fly another obstacle course when he looked at his watch. It was getting late and he had a meeting. On a Saturday! Damn the Head Girl. The bane of his existence. The smiling, always cheerful, know-it-all who drove him to his wit’s end. She, of course, was oblivious to his torture. When he found out he was to be Head Boy, his father had warned him against coming across opposed in any way to his fellow head. The Malfoy reform _must _be complete and _unquestionable_ if their reemergence into society’s elite was to continue. Their defection from the dark to the light was the start, but now it was time for follow through. That meant getting along with prior foes and tempering the haughtiness - humbleness being the attitude du jour, instead. It wasn’t easy. And Hermione Granger wasn’t helping. It was his own personal hell living with the witch. But not for reasons he would have ever anticipated.

* * *

“Oh, am I late?” Hermione panted exhaustedly with wind-blown hair and pink tinged cheeks as she entered the Head dorm.

Draco forced a slight smile, “Only by fifteen minutes. Take your time.” He cringed at the sound of the words coming out of his mouth. Blasted girl. If he had known she was going to be late, he could have flown another practice course. But no, instead he rushed back to be on time for a meeting he felt was completely unnecessary, and on a day and time that was unconscionable. But per his father’s rules, Draco would say nothing.

He rubbed his eyes as the beginnings of a headache were creeping upon him. Then he looked up.

_Fuck._

As the Head Girl approached, he began to internally chant the words as his shields descended. _Occlumency, occlumency, occlumency. For fuck’s sake! Occlude! _

Two hours later, the meeting was finished, dinner was over, and Draco was relaxing in the company of his Slytherin brethren visitors, Theo and Blaise. Like him, they opted to come back to Hogwarts to complete their education. Blaise, like Draco, had not attended the prior year. Draco had been in hiding with his parents under the Order’s protection and Blaise’s mother had pulled him back to Italy to wait out the war. Theo had attended the prior year, but due to the upheaval within the school’s walls, the year’s education had been significantly lacking. Then the battle in May had forced the temporary closure of the school and studies were abruptly halted. All students, in all years, had been given the option to test out the year’s curriculum or they could simply repeat the year. It was a mixed bag as to who did what.

The Slytherin trio were flipping through various magazines as they lounged in front of the fire to ward off the cool chill of the drafty castle. Three sets of eyes nonchalantly moved to the Gryffindor resident when she flounced down the winding stairs from the bedroom landing.

“Hi. Don’t mind me. Just decorating,” she explained with a light and cheery voice as she set down a basket.

Mumbles of acknowledgement from the group were missed by the Head Girl as her thoughts were completely absorbed with her task. Hands on her hips, she scanned the room and then walked towards the large mantle in front of them.

“Holy mother of Merlin,” Theo whispered, just loud enough for the two Slytherins to hear.

Knowing what he would see, but unable to stop himself, Draco peeked up. Standing less than ten feet away, Granger was on her tip toes, arranging pinecones on the mantle. Her stretch caused her t-shirt to ride up, leaving her lower back and the curve of her waist exposed. His eyes scanned down and he forced himself to breathe as he discovered she was in the same shorts from earlier. The ones that barely covered her arse. The ones that left her long, silky legs fully exposed. The ones with the word ‘PINK’ written across her bum.

Draco swallowed and let out a slow, steadying breath. Unlike earlier, this time he felt like he could control his reaction without occluding.

Oblivious, Hermione exhaled a frustrated sigh before turning and dashing back up the stairs, mumbling something about gourds.

“What. The. Fuck. was that?” Theo demanded while Blaise seemed to be stunned into muteness.

Draco let out a humorless laugh. “That is my hell. My penance. Fate tormenting me.”

Blaise found his voice. “I had no idea she was so _hot_.”

“Yeah,” Draco responded resignedly. “Neither did I. And then she walked out of the loo in nothing but a towel our first night here.”

“Those legs!” Theo added.

Draco seemed to be in a daze. “Wet hair, skin glistening from some kind of oil.”

Silence.

“Beads of water dripping down her cleavage.” Draco was staring, as though lost in the memory.

“How do you stand it?” Blaise asked.

After a second, Draco drew in a breath as though coming out of it, realizing his friend had asked a question. He tossed his _Wizard Quarterly_ on the table as he rubbed the back of his neck before shrugging. He seemed to be guessing as he responded, as though he was still figuring out his answer. “Deliberation not to look? Determination not to care? Occlusion, to keep me from humiliating myself?”

“Masturbation to keep away the perma-hard-on?” Theo added with a smirk. His face became serious. “You don’t…you don’t think _all_ Gryffindor witches go about their common room dressed like that, do you?”

The three Slytherins looked at each other, as though contemplating.

“That’s a depressing thought,” Blaise responded. “Imagine what we’ve been missing,” He sighed as he leaned back. “I mean, shit. No wonder Potter and Weasley would never let her out of their sight.”

“It’s not a Gryffindor thing, it’s a Muggleborn thing,” Draco stated.

Blaise nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. Actually, that’s worse. Ours is the only house that doesn’t have Muggleborn witches.”

“And we were better off for it,” Draco asserted. “Imagine how little we would have accomplished with that kind of distraction going about.”

No one could argue with that.

An hour later, his friends having left him for their own Saturday night amorous pursuits, Draco found himself alone with the bewildering witch that continually left him flummoxed. Physical attraction to a woman who you secretly desired to strangle was enough to drive any man mad. Not that he really wanted to _kill_ the witch. He just wanted her to…_stop_. _Breathe._ But she was incapable. She was constantly planning, moving, organizing. Even when she studied, she mumbled to herself. Often times arguing with the author of whatever text she was reading_. “How can you arrive at such a flimsy conclusion?” _She had demanded the night before as she had slammed **‘Ethics of Magic and Medicine’ **closed and pushed it away from her.

Yes, she was smart. Even _he_ couldn’t argue that observation. But to think she knew more than master level practitioners and teachers? No. She was absurd. And rather presumptuous, self-righteous and conceited, truth be told. He ignored the small voice in the back of his head that whispered, _“Pot, cauldron. Cauldron, pot.” _

He was pulled from his musings when the object of his frustrations stated, with no small hint of irritation, “You could help me, you know.”

He looked up to see her levitating and attempting to properly drape a cord with tiny, orange lights. They looked like lights he had seen when he was passing through Muggle London during Christmas. Only these were shaped like pumpkins.

Draco might have to play nice about Head Boy stuff and he might have to prove his sincerity that he was for equality among all witches and wizards, regardless of parentage, but he had to draw the line somewhere. And this was it. “Sorry, Granger. Not my thing.” He tried to keep his voice from sounding condescending but feared he failed miserably. Old habits were hard to break.

“Don’t you enjoy the decorations? The votives and luminaries? The pumpkins and gourds? The ghouls, mummies, and monsters?” She was gesturing about the room to the copious decorations as she spoke. “What do you have against Halloween, anyway?”

She was staring with a slightly accusatory eye. The know-it-all was finding him lacking. It irked him but he held his temper, instead responding as calmly as he could muster. “I have nothing against the _origins_ of Halloween – Samhain. I just have little patience for the commercialized and, forgive me for saying this, Muggle misinterpretation of the significance of the day. It cheapens something that is sacred and to be taken seriously.”

“Oh, here we go. I’ve been waiting for this.”

Draco’s gaze snapped back up from his book to find her arms crossed in front of her and her face tinged with pink blotches. She was tapping her foot and seemed ready to combust. Confused, he asked simply, “Waiting for what exactly?”

“Waiting for your true colors to come through! I knew it was too good to last!”

“What was?” He was having a hard time concealing his own irritation. He had been nothing but an agreeable lap crup ever since school had started.

“The new and improved Draco Malfoy. The one who agreed to my inter house socials. The one who didn’t object to my recommendation to the Board of Governors for cultural education for all incoming students - Muggle culture for purebloods and pureblood culture for Muggleborns.” She shifted her stance and took a step towards him, her voice trembling as though she wasn’t only angry, but upset as well. “You’ve just been waiting for this, haven’t you! You haven’t changed. You still think Muggleborns cheapen your world and your culture. You think we don’t belong! You’ve been lying. Admit it!”

Draco simply stared at her as his heart pounded in his chest. How dare she! Rage, low and deep in his belly, began to simmer into a boil as his fists clenched. Rising slowly off the sofa, his gaze remained on hers.

Hermione swallowed as she took two cautionary steps backwards. She had not meant to lose her temper in such a way, but she couldn’t help it. All her doubt and unsurety about him erupted. As angry as she was, an uncomfortable hurt was swelling in her chest as well. She had wanted his reform to be true, and therefore his kindness and apparent regard for her to be heartfelt. But it was all an act. A lie. When her legs backed into one of the cushy chairs, she lost her balance and fell back into it, leaving the blond menace towering over her and looking down with unconcealed fury etched onto the planes of his face.

His voice was deep. Each syllable enunciated with his signature drawl. “Do not put words in my mouth. I have done nothing but be an agreeable doormat since the start of term. You wanted Tuesday night prefect meetings? Fine. I can do without Dueling club this year. You wanted to determine and schedule the prefect rounds rotations? Sure. No problem. You wanted to influence the incoming curriculum for new students to provide for culture sensitivity training? I didn’t bat an eye, even though I felt you were pushing for too much, too soon. I endorsed your request in front of the board and stood behind you. However, it won’t be my fault when they come back at the next quarterly meeting and deny your request for being too ambitious. Too Gryffindor.”

His gaze reflexively scanned down her form and back up as she slowly pulled up her legs onto the chair. As though she were afraid. He couldn’t help the smirk that crept over his mouth as he leaned forward, one hand on each chair arm, so that he was boxing her in. “So how dare you accuse me of lying. How dare you presume to know what I think. You can’t possibly know what goes on in my head.”

“So, tell me!” she demanded. “Yes, you’ve been very accommodating, but I never asked you to be a doormat! And as far as how you really feel about things? How would I know? By appearances sake, you only changed sides to save your skin!”

They stared at each other for a moment before she added, “You hardly contribute any ideas. You’re so…pleasant all the time! It’s unnerving! It doesn’t make sense. You’ve hated me for my blood since you’ve known me. And suddenly all that changed? And I feel you watching me, and I don’t know if it’s because you loathe me or….” She hesitated.

“Or what?”

She swallowed.

Understanding her meaning, an uncomfortable flush crept up his neck. “Please,” he scoffed as he pushed away, turning his back to her. Not wanting to give away how close she was to the truth.

Neither said anything for a minute and when Draco heard her move out of the chair and walk back towards her basket, he let out a heavy sigh. “Look. Granger. I haven’t been lying, per say. I just… it’s hard, you know?”

She was ruffling through the basket but paused and turned to face him. “No, I don’t know.”

“It’s hard to have been on the wrong side of things for so long. And, for the record, I haven’t been lying. I don’t believe in all that blood crap anymore.” He stepped towards her. “But I do care about tradition, and respect for the world I grew up in.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You know what? Fuck you, Granger. If you can’t appreciate a person’s loyalty to their culture, then you and I will never get one another.”

“It’s not that, Malfoy. The problem is that you use your history, tradition, and culture as an excuse to hate. An excuse to be exclusionary.”

Draco stared at her for a moment, a flicker of understanding igniting something deep within him. He lightly shook his head, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. “I don’t wish for you to be excluded, Hermione.”

Her eyes widened when he said her name. It sounded smooth, like silk, coming out of his mouth. Something inside of her shifted, as though the axis of her personal gravity tilted. She had to reach out and grab the back of the chair when he took another small step towards her.

“That is why I fundamentally agree with your course suggestions. I want you, and other Muggleborns to understand why something like the mass interpretation of Halloween can be a bit off putting to someone like me. Someone who sees the day as something serious. Something spiritual. A connection to lost ancestors, if only for one night.” He gestured about the room before his focus landed on a mummy she had propped in the corner. A banner hung overhead that said, “Have a ghoulish Halloween.”

His voice was soft, slightly pleading. “I don’t wish to take away your fun. I don’t want to change what the day means for you. I just want you to respect what it means to me as well.”

She didn’t say anything as a slow feeling of guilt crept up her spine. After a pause she offered, resignedly, “I’m sorry. I overreacted. I’ve been a bit…on edge. Waiting for the shoe to drop. I, I haven’t completely trusted your change of heart. I wanted it to be sincere. But…”

“You didn’t think I was being honest,” he interrupted. After a second, he shrugged. “It’s not your fault. I can…I can see why you would think that.”

Hermione couldn’t believe this conversation. This boy was opening up to her in a way she would have never imagined possible. She couldn’t help asking, “Is that sincere? Do you really understand my perspective?”

Draco sighed heavily and collapsed into the chair she had vacated moments before. “I’m not completely clueless, you know. I _am_ capable of looking at things from an objective perspective. I can also be empathetic. On occasion.” He looked up at her with a slightly sheepish grin. “But don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

Hermione offered him a small teasing smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Your secret is safe with me.”

Neither spoke for a contemplative minute. Draco watched her, unable to keep his focus from gliding down her form. Her t-shirt had ridden up even further, exposing more of her taut, smooth belly. She had shapely hips and it gave her waist a bit of an exaggerated figure eight shape. She brushed some loose strands of hair off her forehead before sitting on the end of the coffee table, facing him. He forced himself to look at the fire to his right or he would have not been able to help but peek at the crotch of her shorts. She was right in front of him. With slightly parted legs. He was certain that if he had dared to look, he would have likely seen a flash of her knickers.

“Why? Why have you agreed with every suggestion? Every meeting? If it’s not some form of manipulation, then why have you had a complete personality change?” Her question was softly spoken, almost like a heartfelt plea.

His eyes flew to hers to find them open and vulnerable. And somehow, he knew that he could hurt her if he wanted to. If he wanted to be cruel, he could say the words it was so plain she did not want to hear. But the truth was that Draco was tired. Tired of the act. Tired of proving himself. He wanted to be honest. He wanted her to accept him for who he was and not who he was pretending to be.

“Maybe…maybe I haven’t been _completely_ honest.”

“I knew it!”

She was pushing herself to stand when he reached out and lightly grabbed her forearm. “Wait! Let me finish. You don’t know what I was going to say.” His hand felt a scar on her skin. A scar he couldn’t see. She pulled her forearm back to her chest and looked away, as though ashamed, as she sat back down.

“You have a glamor?” he asked gently.

“Obviously,” she retorted with a touch more venom than she intended.

He watched her for a minute as unwelcome and deserved guilt washed over him. “You know, of the many, _many _things I regret, one of the few that I regret the most was that day. Not doing more to help you.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “There was nothing you could have done without blowing your cover or your parents’. Harry was the important one. Not me. We all knew that.”

Draco shook his head as he looked at his own forearm, his Dark Mark almost completely faded to nothing. “It’s not fair,” he whispered. “I took the mark by choice. Severus and Father took it by their own volition. And now that _he_ is gone and the war is over, our scars have all but vanished.” Draco reached forward and gently took her arm, slightly surprised that she allowed it. His fingers gently rubbed over the invisible ridges on her skin. “You didn’t choose this. You didn’t ask for it. Yet, the war is over, and you’ll bear this for life.”

Hermione couldn’t help the tear that escaped her bottom right lash. She quickly wiped it away, hoping he was too focused on her arm to notice. When she peeked back at him, it was to find his knowing eyes on hers, his grey irises beautiful with their intensity; soft flickers of light within them reflecting the hearth.

“What I haven’t been completely honest about, has to do with Head stuff. Not my fundamental beliefs. Not war propaganda. I don’t believe in blood purity anymore. I don’t think Muggleborns stole magic or have less magical ability than purebloods. I do not believe you are inferior to me.”

Her whisky eyes drank in his words. “What Head stuff?” she asked, tentatively.

He offered a small smirk. “Who in their right mind has a Head meeting on Saturday afternoon?”

Hermione couldn’t help it and burst out laughing.

“I mean, honestly! And I hate having prefect meetings on Tuesdays. I miss Dueling club.” The words began to pour from his mouth; The pent-up frustrations he had been keeping to himself spilled like steam out of a cracked pressure cooker. “I hate having to agree with everything you say for fear that any resistance from me will be interpreted as a reflection of my opinion of your blood, or as a declaration that my motivations to switch sides during the war were less than honest. Everything you accused me of, is what I fear people will believe. So I walk this line of perfection, a script I have to adhere to in order to exist peacefully in this new world.”

Hermione’s jaw fell. She suddenly realized she was guilty of many things when it came to Draco Malfoy. Not the least of which was failing to consider that his behavior was simply motivated by fear, and not a desire to manipulate.

“Draco.” His eyes moved to hers so quickly, she realized she had never called him by his first name before. She shook off the observation. “I don’t want you to not be yourself. I mean, I can do without the cruelty, but we are partners.” She sighed and held out her hand. “Can we start over? Can we just agree to be truthful with each other?”

Draco regarded her hand for a second. She held it out unwaveringly, and after a second, he took it into a firm grasp. “I would like that.”

“And we’ll move the prefect meetings to another night. Let me know any other changes you’d like and we’ll discuss them.”

Draco nodded. “Fine. Thanks.”

She let out a sigh as she stood and looked at the exuberant decorations covering practically every surface in the common room. “I’ll take some of the decorations down as well. I did get a little carried away.”

“Granger, you don’t have to…”

She interrupted him, “No. I do. We live here together. I respect what Samhain means to you. I’d never really thought about its true meaning before. But hearing you explain it? It makes me want to learn more.”

“Do you want some help?” he offered as he eyed the more garish of the surface coverings.

“Nah, it’s a cinch to get them down. It’s putting them up that’s a pain.”

* * *

Draco woke the next morning having slept better than he had in months. He loved Sundays. A day with no obligations where he could do whatever he wanted. He slipped on his robe and headed down the steps to make tea. He almost turned right back around when he walked in on Hermione in the kitchen, cooking the muggle way, whisking something in a bowl. Wiggling her hips as she did it. Hips that were nicely framed in Muggle denim’s that left no curve to the imagination. Before he could sneak away, she sensed him and turned around, flashing a brilliant smile. “Oh, good! You’re up. I’m making hot cakes. You want some?”

No, he didn’t want hot cakes. He wanted her to go change into a tunic. However, not wanting to hurt her feelings after their talk the night before, he found himself doing what he had sworn he wouldn’t do anymore. Agreeing when he didn’t want to. “Uh, sure. Thanks.”

He headed for the kettle, pleased to find the water already hot. He fixed his cup of tea and looked down at her. Down at a heap of cleavage displayed by a low-cut t-shirt. The woman was a sadist. _Fuck. _The last thing he needed was wood right now. “Wow, it’s rather brisk, don’t you think? Can I get you a sweater?”

Hermione waved him off, clueless to his misery. “No thanks. I have a cardigan on the chair. I always get hot in the kitchen.”

His brain started reeling with the things he _wanted_ to say.

_The only thing hot in here, is you. _

_In that case, maybe you should take off your shirt?_

_I heard that naked cooking is a thing now._

“Oh. Okay,” he responded lamely as he walked to their tiny shared breakfast table.

Fifteen minutes later, they were digging into pancakes dripping with maple syrup and fresh cooked bacon. The bird could cook, and he found he was much hungrier than he thought.

“Soo, I was wondering,” she asked slowly, clearly doubting whether she should finish her question.

“Yeah?” _Yes, you can sit on my face, I don’t mind. _

“Well, Samhain. I did some research last night and read about the ancient rituals. Is that something your family does? The chanting and the animal sacrifice?”

Draco shrugged. “We’re kind of like Christians who celebrate Christmas but don’t go to church. We have a fire pit near the estate’s burial grounds. We invite extended family and friends over to feast and then just before midnight, we recite the Malfoy ritual chant. We don’t sacrifice any animals, although I did try to talk my parents into sacrificing my French cousin, Augustin, the year after my Grandfather passed. The brat had crashed into a tree and destroyed my new broom. I thought I was making a brilliant suggestion. Get rid of my irritating cousin and bring my Grandfather back.”

Hermione smiled as she sipped her tea and pushed her half empty plate away.

“Are you finished?” He asked.

She nodded. “Stuffed.”

_I’ll show you stuffed_. Keeping his inappropriate internal dialogue to himself, he grabbed her plate and dug in.

He swallowed and, feeling her eyes on him, peeked up as a thought occurred. “So, Theo, Blaise, and some of the other traditional Slytherins and Ravenclaws are meeting up next Saturday night to celebrate the event.” He sipped his tea and put down his cup. “Do you want to come?”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?” He could literally see her brain spinning as she contemplated. He was surprised to find he really wanted her to say yes. “Come. This is me sharing something cultural with you.”

A heat blossomed in her chest at his words. She could tell he was sincere. And his use of the word _traditional _instead of _pureblood_ to describe the other attendees was not lost on her. He was clearly making an effort and it pleased her more than she could have anticipated. “I’d really like that,” she answered softly.

* * *

The week flew by and Saturday was upon them. In observance of the Halloween feast that evening, the Quidditch match was earlier in the day than normal. After the meal, the 7th and 8th year students who celebrated Samhain would head to their gathering at the forest’s edge. Flitwick and Professor Snape would be attending as chaperones and to handle any of the more aggressive spirits that sometimes made their presence known on the sacred night.

There was excitement in the air that morning as students gathered in the Great Hall for breakfast. Excitement for the match and excitement for the quasi-holiday.

Theo grasped Draco’s shoulder. “Your last chance, Drake. Your last chance to beat Gryffindor. Make it happen.”

As if Draco wasn’t nervous enough. “Whatever,” he replied dismissively, not wanting to show any weakness. He was a Slytherin, after all. “So, are we all set for tonight?”

Blaise nodded as he sipped his pumpkin juice. “Fifteen of us. We have enough summoning beads for at least ten more as well.”

“Sixteen,” Draco corrected.

Theo lifted a brow.

“Granger’s coming,” Draco responded simply.

Theo and Blaise exchanged knowing grins. “Is that so?” Blaise enquired smoothly.

Discovering he wasn’t hungry, Draco stood and walked away, not bothering to answer the rhetorical question.

Four hours later, Draco was clutching the Snitch to the roar of the crowd. He had done it. He had beaten Gryffindor fair and square without any foul play. Pity it wasn’t Potter he had gone up against, but there was always league play to look forward to after graduation. He heard Potter was seeking for the Ministry team. Draco was certain that one of the many UK amateur leagues could benefit from his talents.

Scanning the crowd as he flew to the ground, he spotted the Head Girl standing with Ginny Weasley, consoling the witch for the loss. After spending some time on the field celebrating with the team and the Slytherins who had descended on them from the stands, Draco made his way back to the castle. He wanted to relax before the feast and the ritual. It was going to be a late night and he wouldn’t be averse to a kip.

Hermione was happy for the Head Boy. Ever since their talk the week before, she had allowed herself to trust him more and more. He was slowly easing back into his more familiar persona, but not in a bad way. He didn’t insult her, at least not in any way the Head Girl took offense. Criticizing her for studying too much, or for using too many shades in her color coded, filing system for her notes were not actually insults in her opinion. Ongoing comments about her hair blocking the fireplace when she sat on the floor on front of it while he laid on the sofa to read, well, that was just absurd, and obviously said to get a rise. In truth, she liked this side of him. It was familiar and expected. But behind the jabs, was a young man who was simply trying to adjust to a new life without losing too much of himself in the process. Hermione understood that. She had also come to understand what it meant when she found his eyes on her occasionally. She noticed his attention to her favorite shorts and made a point to wear them…frequently. To her delight, she had discovered that when she combined her favorite shorts with a cropped, low cut t-shirt, his insults had more zing and a touch more venom.

In truth, Hermione was developing a bit of a crush on the Head Boy. It wasn’t something she could help. He had expressed vulnerability, and that was like catnip to the Gryffindor lioness. She knew how hard it had to have been for him to open up to her like that. He could have just shut down and not talked to her. Instead, he shared a piece of himself and was honest. There was no bigger turn on. And let’s face it; The Slytherin was easy on the eyes. He was tall and fit and had lithe fingers that left her wondering what he could do with them. His face was less pointy than in his youth. He had a strong jawline and sultry eyes that made her weak in the knees when he looked at her a certain way. Then there was his mouth. White straight teeth and soft lips that were capable of a smile that could light up a room. More than once she had wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

When she arrived back at the Head dorm and made her way upstairs, she fought to control her reaction when the boy who was currently occupying her thoughts stepped out of the loo – almost colliding into her - in nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. She had never seen him without a shirt. His skin was smooth and hairless and lightly flushed from the heat of the shower. Drops of water caressed his arms, pecs and abdominals. The beginning of a happy trail was displayed by the low draped fabric.

“You alright, Granger?” the Head Boy asked in a knowing voice.

Hermione’s guilty irises shot up to his amused ones. He had caught her staring. Embarrassment caused her face to flame and her mouth to go dry. Words were suddenly lost to her as she tried to force a swallow and barely choked out, “Uh huh.”

He flashed her a large smile, “If you say so.” He proceeded to wink at her as he moved past and into his room.

Hermione had lost her ability to function as embarrassment caused her to go into a mild panic. _Damn him! _In a matter of seconds, the tables had turned. She had known he desired her. She had been catching his stares more and more frequently. She had a feeling he knew that she knew. It had given her a slight edge over him. A boost of confidence in her dealings with the snarky blond. The knowledge that he secretly wanted her making it easy to disregard his half-hearted insults that he had slowly been tossing out with more frequency, many times spurned on by her intentional wardrobe manipulation.

But now. Now he knew that she wanted him, as well. She no longer had the upper hand. Letting out a frustrated growl, she regained her ability to move and dashed into her room, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Draco could not wipe the smile from his face as he pulled on his favorite sweats and ragged t-shirt. Hermione Granger liked him. No. _She wanted him._ It was written all over her face. And wasn’t life good?!

Beat Gryffindor on the Quidditch pitch? Check.

Discover the know-it-all, supremely irritating, incredibly brilliant, surprisingly sexy, bushy haired, Gryffindor Head Girl had the hots for him? Check.

Have an evening planned that just took on a whole new meaning? Check.

Deciding he was hungry and rather thirsty, Draco headed downstairs, that same grin glued on his face.

Hermione had heard the Head Boy go down the steps. She had been hiding in her room, not wanting to have to bear his inevitable gloating. But time was passing, and the evening was approaching. She would have to face him at some point. Better now than when they went to the bonfire later. But she needed ammo. A particularly tight t-shirt with some yoga pants ought to do the trick.

Five minutes later, she found him passed out on the common room sofa. An empty plate on the table next to him. She couldn’t help but allow herself to get a good eyeful of him. He looked so peaceful. No smirk on his mouth. No anger or tension lines on his face. Had his lashes always been so thick and long? His feet were pale and slender. Kind of like his fingers. She grinned as she imagined what he would do if she tickled his foot. It was what she would do without hesitation to Ron or Harry in this situation. But this was Draco Malfoy, and something told her he would not find it amusing.

“See something you like, Granger?” He whispered as his lips pulled into a half smile and his eyes remained closed. When she didn’t answer, he pried one eye open. Her expression was priceless, and Draco Malfoy was merciless. “Honestly, the ogling has to stop, Granger. What, I’ve won a Quidditch match, as a Seeker, and suddenly you want me? I heard that about you, you know. Krum… Prophet articles about you and Potter.”

Opening his other eye so that he could enjoy her reaction, he wasn’t disappointed. Her face was as red as a tomato. She was wearing one of the t-shirts that drove him to distraction. And then there were her leggings. He would have to keep his eyes on her face if he was going to win the battle of wills.

“You sure are full of yourself, Malfoy. I hate to break it to you, but jocks aren’t my thing. And you _definitely_ aren’t my thing!” She didn’t sound nearly as convincing as she had intended. Her brain clumsily stumbled for some insults she could throw his way, but his smile only grew wider. And she only grew redder. And her brain was short circuiting.

Pushing himself up into a sit, Draco decided it was time to take action. “Come here, Granger.”

“No,” she responded, simply.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a prat,”

“True, but we both now that’s not the reason.”

Silence.

“Come here,” he demanded a second time.

“No. I’m not a dog to be commanded about.”

Draco let out a heavy sigh of exasperation. “Fine. Granger, will you please come here?”

Her arms were crossed. “Why?”

“Because I think you’re the most beautiful witch in the castle, and I want to kiss you.”

Silence.

_Did I just admit that?_

_Did he just say that?_

Hermione was completely taken off guard. Draco watched her closely as she processed what he had said. Surprise, doubt, hope, fear. Her eyes. The crinkles on her forehead and the little, worrying, 11 that appeared between her eyebrows. They all gave her away. She would never make it as a spy.

But when she began to turn away, Draco bounded off the sofa. He had made his confession and he would not let her escape. He was on her instantly and scooped her up, tossing her over his shoulder.

She let out a shriek of surprise. “Put me down this instant!”

“Fine, but don’t walk away from me!” Draco responded as he gently placed her in the spot next to where he had been sitting. He quickly dropped down beside her. Outside, he was the picture of calm, but inside, his plotting and cunning inner Slytherin voice was scolding him for making such an impulsive and reckless gesture. Clearly the damnable Gryffindor was rubbing off on him.

And then he was completely taken by surprise when the witch lurched forward and kissed him. Right on the mouth, with lips that were tight and hard. Before he could react, she pulled away, her fingers immediately covering her mouth, self-doubt reflected in her caramel eyes.

Having none of that, he pulled the hand away and pressed his mouth to hers, gently and warmly. She tensed for only a breath of a second before she responded in kind. Their lips were tentative as they tangled, and Hermione could sense his nervousness. Somehow it relaxed her. He was vulnerable as well.

Snaking her arms around his neck, Hermione rested against the sofa back as Draco leaned into her, their lips continuing to dance and not break apart. His hands tentatively grasped her waist, one gently moving down to caress her hip, the other trailing up, lightly stroking her rib cage, careful not to touch her breast.

Finally pulling away from her lips, he peppered gentle kisses along her jaw. “Granger. Do you even know what you do to me?” he whispered.

Emboldened, the witch tangled her fingers into his blond locks and tilted her face so that their lips met once again. When their tongues lightly touched, it was like oil was tossed on the simmering desire within them both. Their kiss became more aggressive as their confidence that the other wasn’t going to push away grew.

Draco’s hands found purchase at the base of her shirt and stroked the soft skin beneath the fabric, inching higher up. When she didn’t stop his progression, he gently cupped her bra-clad breasts. They felt perfect in his hands. His mouth swallowed her breathy moans as his fingers trailed down her waist, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.

Draco’s hair was fine and silky and was so very different from her own, that Hermione delighted in the feel of it. The more they kissed, the more empowered she felt. Her hands became more confident as she caressed his broad shoulders and down his arms. The cords of his tight bicep muscles quivered beneath her touch and she couldn’t deny the relief that she was affecting him as well.

For her part, Hermione felt like putty to be molded to his whim. His hands were just as she had imagined; soft, warm, and purposeful. Experienced and knowing just how to touch her. She arched her back, pressing into him, knowing things could get carried away, yet unable to stop herself all the same.

Wanting skin on skin, Draco pushed away for a second, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. He was rewarded with lust blown pupils drinking him in as her fingertips began to stroke his newly exposed skin.

“Lay back,” he gently commanded, pleased when she immediately complied. He draped himself over her, careful to keep most his weight on his forearms so as not to crush her.

Her fingers lightly trailed down his chest and back up to his erect nipples. She slid down enough to engulf one in her mouth before moving to the the other. Draco panted and then whispered, “If you get to play with mine, I get to play with yours.”

Hermione’s mouth pulled into a wicked smile as she wiggled back up to meet his eyes. She cocked a brow at him, throwing him one of his own signature expressions. “Is that so?”

His irises twinkled with mischief as his mouth shifted into a flirtatious grin. “Yes, it’s written in **Hogwarts: A History**. Chapter 72. _Snogging etiquette amongst Head Boys and Girls. _It says plainly on page 1123, paragraph two, under subheading, _Nipple Play_, that ever since Francois of the House Dubois was egregiously nipple assaulted by the Head Girl, Ernestesia of the House Montegue, and then not allowed to reciprocate, leading to a duel that destroyed a western turret of the castle, that it was theretofore considered poor etiquette and a grounds for formal complaint when Nipple teasing was not allowed to be reciprocated by either party.”

Hermione tried to keep a straight face and feared she was going to fail, miserably. _How had he just come up with that? _

Draco, on the other hand, maintained his composure as he added, “I’m surprised you aren’t more informed, Miss Granger. **Hogwarts: A History** is required reading on the Head Girls summer reading list.”

“Never heard of it,” she barely managed, as her eyes flitted to her worn copy of the said text on the table next to them, dog eared and well-loved from multiple rereads and research through the years.

Draco cocked a brow. “So, shirt off, unless you want to be brought before the board on formal charges.”

* * *

Hermione was barely listening to Ginny at the feast as the witch droned on about the day’s loss. Instead, her thoughts wandered repeatedly to the Head Boy and the feel of his lips and hands on her skin. Visions of his smile caused a maniacal fluttering of butterfly wings in her stomach. The minute he had demanded she remove her top, she had succumbed to a massive fit of giggles, which in turn, caused him to break character and fall into an abandoned laughter as well. It was beautiful. Seeing him like that. Playful, affectionate, teasing, and sexy. All at the same time.

Ultimately, they had simply held each other after that. It felt right in his arms. Like a piece she hadn’t known was missing was suddenly in place.

She was pulled from her thoughts when the man himself approached her, holding out his hand. Right there in front of everyone. “Shall we?” he asked, simply.

Knowing it was more than just an answer, but a statement to the entire school, Hermione took his offering. She was displaying her trust in him for all to see. Once she was on her feet, he draped his arm around her shoulder. In turn, she pressed up and kissed his cheek. She ignored the surprised gasps and whisperings - that started at the Gryffindor table and spread to the others like falling dominoes - as they exited the Great Hall.

Despite wearing her wool cloak, Hermione shivered as they stepped out of the castle and into the cold, night air. Draco pulled her tighter to his side and cast a warming charm. Neither spoke, but they simply couldn’t bear not to be touching.

When they made their way to the clearing at the forest’s edge, Draco led her directly to the group of eighth year Slytherins. Her fears of unacceptance were quickly dashed when Theo and Blaise threw her large, welcoming smiles and Daphne Greengrass approached her with a warm welcome. Draco dropped his arm from its possessive hold and took her hand in his, speaking quietly to his best mates as Daphne offered, “So glad you came tonight, Hermione. We are pleased you are here. I’ll save you a seat next to me for when the summoning starts.”

When Hermione gave her a questioning look, Daphne laughed. “Well, you’ll see, the chanting is performed by the men. It’s an old-fashioned tradition, but it’s the way it’s been done for centuries.” She gestured to a log close by. “We’ll sit there, and I’ll explain what I can until Draco can get back to you.”

“Thank you, Daphne,” Hermione responded. “I’m so excited to be here.”

Hermione was dumbfounded. She had not expected such a welcome. As she looked around, she spotted other Muggleborns who were being introduced to Samhain as well.

“You okay?” a soft, honied voice whispered into her ear as the fingers that had yet to release her own tightened.

She looked up and beamed at him. “I’m great.” And she truly was. It was a new beginning. For Draco. For Her. For them. And judging by what she was witnessing, it was a new beginning for pureblood and Muggleborn relations as well. At least amongst the students. And they were the future, after all.

She looked up into the smoky, grey eyes of her new boyfriend. “Thank you.”

His look was confused. “For what?”

“For trusting me. For giving me…” she looked around and gestured to the other Muggleborns, “and them a chance.”

Draco’s face was radiant. His smile was genuine. “No more barriers, Hermione. It’s a new world. Hopefully, a better one.”


End file.
